


Glass Is Such A Pretty Color

by Ivy_in_the_Garden



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Colorblindness, Death, Gen, Grief, Hate Sex, Multi, Parenthood, Possibly Unrequited Love, Shuu tries parenting, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_in_the_Garden/pseuds/Ivy_in_the_Garden
Summary: A collection of snapshots of Shuu's many relationships, from platonic to romantic, abusive to redeeming. For the Hatoful ship week.





	1. Waiting

He's not sure when the death finally registers. That's what his mind categorizes it as: the death--not a death, not his death. 

The death. 

A primitive defense against reality, he realizes. A linguistic gulf that he can hide in, a broken bridge between fantasy and the inevitable. 

But sometimes, night crawls in on its stretched, starved limbs, reminding him that from dust Dr. Kawara has come, and to dust he has returned. Sometimes, he closes his eyes to remind himself that the blankness there is all that he will inherit. Science has not progressed so far as to defy death, after all. 

What would it have been like, to have made something of the life he saw in Dr. Kawara? Is death only a holiday from living? No, that implies a return to life, and Shuu should know a thing or two about death.  Death is nothing, the absence of being, that's all. Death is the absence of sweets piled on his desk, with a mock-worried note. 

And yet, he can't reconcile the death with Dr. Kawara's absence. He hasn't been taught how to, he reasons. It's a blank space inside him, this lack of understanding. He's seen death firsthand, even caused it, but grieving is only a human emotion after all--and there is a gulf between what he is and what others are. He knows that, all too well. 

He knows all the cliches, thinks himself above them--and yet, part of him went with Dr. Kawara on holiday. The part that wanted something from him--to be his protege, his son, his lover. Shuu can't even tell anymore, can't distinguish if he wanted the man to treat him the way his parents never did, or to satisfy his slowly awakening desires. Would there have been something more, if it weren't for his death?

 The pen stops, midway through Ryouta's progress file, drawing a stark black line across the page. He stares at the mark coolly; it's the crack in the glass, the reminder that he can still be affected by the inferior emotions. Then, slowly, slowly, he rips the page from its binding. It folds and crinkles under the pressure. 

That won't do. 

 _The_ death, he reminds himself, starting on a fresh page. Only the death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was holiday, so obviously, I wrote about death. XD
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is loved.


	2. Family

It's a strange thing--family. 

He's thought of himself as an orphan even during that brief time his parents were alive. Neglectful is such a facile term; only three syllables to encompass the vast emptiness of being treated as an object, something to take off the shelf in a passing fancy, but then quickly left alone. Vague interest turned to disappointment, when they realized what he had become--an empty, emotionless doll for them to trot out at parties. 

Maybe it was for the best; after all, dolls can't really be hurt, can they? Dolls can be broken, or ignored, or smashed, or paralyzed along their side in a terrible white heat. But dolls don't ever cry, or bleed, or quietly resign themselves to a life spent in a boundless, gaping solitude--like a light switched off.

Sometimes, the best defense is not to exist in the first place.

So, it's not a surprise when his world becomes monochrome--a dull, iron grey steadily supplanting his memories of what color had been, remaking his past into the color that suited it most.

But abandonment cuts both ways: if they are free to ignore him, then he is free to turn his back on the family name.

Severed ties cannot bind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was "family." I'm really interested in Shuu's birth family, because I couldn't dig up much on them, aside from a very interesting description in his short story that they were neglectful. I interpreted that as emotional neglect, which I think is a quiet, pervasive sort of damage. 
> 
> Also, you all are such a sweet fandom, my gosh!! ❤️❤️❤️ All your comments on the previous chapter made my day! Thank you for reading.


	3. Secrets

"You miscalculated, Wallenstein. You did not account for Edel Blau's presence." The sweetness of victory made Anghel's voice coolly level. Around him lay the remains of Himnesia--his creation, his masterpiece! Bringing out the other half of Anghel, his wicked half, had been foolproof! 

Edel Blau looked on the verge of collapse, but held her ground. 

Dark sorcerer Wallenstein drew himself up, trembling with anger. "Bah! I must withdraw!" His fists shook. "Do not forget!" he said, pointing at Anghel. "I shall summon a second Himnesia, and a third, until the world is torn apart by their Thirst for Blood!" Amidst Anghel's cries to wait, he fled the site of his dark and evil deeds, away from the Tree of Blight stretching its blood-red branches across the infirmary, leeching away the light. 

So close! Next time, he'll have to dispose of Edel Blau! He should have known she was special, should have imprisoned Anghel forever in the Eternal Cage of Ice! Curse Him of the Crimson Breast; damn Edel Blau, Apostle of the Blu--

What the _hell_ was he doing?  

Gone were the pulsing red lights, the corpse of his masterwork, replaced by the bleached monochrome of the school corridor. He could remember the conviction with which he has sworn to seek revenge, to end the work, but now it seemed like a rather foolish thought.  

Given that he was not employed by the Hawk Party to contemplate the strange turns in his life, he returned to his rather ordinary infirmary, greeted by a broken window and the yells of Anghel. "Apostle of the Blue Sky! We must train for Dark Sorcerer Wallenstein's return!" Whatever Hiyoko replied was lost, as Anghel began to mock-battle her with a pen.  

How intriguing, Shuu thought, watching them. He'd never been on the receiving end of Anghel's immersive delusions before.

What other secrets could the boy hold?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a comment (I don't remember where, sorry!) about the absurdity of Anghel's convictions and how strange it must have been for Shuu to be wrapped/warped into that at the end of Anghel's route. If that was you, let me know so I can credit you.
> 
> First half of the dialogue is from the game. 
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read! Feedback is loved.


	4. Light/Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned at one point that this fic will earn its rating. Watch me continue to very loosely interpret the prompts. 
> 
> Human au, because this chapter would be incredibly weird otherwise.

Oh, Nanaki could pretend to be sweet, but they both knew better. Nanaki's mask had dropped when he decided to shoot him, down in the abandoned lab. It's distant now, the way the bullet bit into his left thigh, gnawing and gnawing like a memory, while he wondered how long Nanaki planned to draw out his death.  

It's no surprise that Nanaki likes to draw Shuu's attention to that spot, with its raised, pink scar, too fresh to have faded to pale. Half a threat, half a reminder of their... mutual hatred. Yes, that's it.

Hatred.

Nanaki's hand on his thigh burns him--his pulse quickens as Nanaki idly traces the outline, a cruel smirk on his kiss-reddened lips. 

It's not easy, what they do when the world has stilled. Shuu's right side never really recovered, and now, with the added strain of Nanaki's doing, it always requires a bit of work to find a position they both enjoy. But they do. They really shouldn't, it's not what Nanaki really ought to do, as Shuu tries to recover what use he still can of his body--but that just makes it all the better. When Nanaki moves inside him, when his fingers dig into Nanaki's back, encouraging him on, Shuu forgets all about the man he loved before him.

The one who only became a shadow in the end.

(And who, like all shadows, never truly leaves.) 

He forgets the way he's bound in this body that keeps falling apart, bit by bit. It seems the price of freedom requires its pound of flesh. His escape from his parents cost him his right side, and now, it seems that his freedom from Ryuuji's promise will take part of his left without rigorous rehabilitation. He doesn't want to think about the pain and the exhaustion rehabilitation brings. The soreness that hot water does not erase. The aches that run down his back.

From Nanaki's determined look, he seems to be getting something entirely different from fucking his brother's murderer. It can't be revenge, or Shuu would never have woken up the first night they spent together.  Admittedly, Shuu had planned to cut Nanaki's throat later, but to his eternal disappointment, the other man had left while Shuu was still sleeping off the endorphin rush. The drug-laced scalpel had been neatly removed from under Shuu's pillow to the nightstand, in a very clear gesture that Nanaki held no illusions about what sort of man he was. 

What sort of men they are.

And it ends in sharp intakes of breath and the sudden shudders of Nanaki's hips--and the dream ends.

In the morning light, they're only two men driven together by something neither one can recapture--Nageki won't step out of the inferno, and Ryuuji won't ever wake up on the examination table. A shared hatred and a shared loss. The victim and the perpetrator, locked in an eternal struggle. But sometimes, he's not sure which role he has. Maybe that's the problem, because without Ryuuji, he's nothing at all. Nanaki can play at his sweet side, his sun-bright side of gentleness, but Shuu knows better: it's only a mask for the _real_ Nanaki, the one who would willingly slit open a teenager to further his goals. Light and dark, the classic dichotomy.  Nanaki couldn't lose his brother a second time, because then he'd really lose himself. 

Maybe that's what they share in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nagaki/Shuu is a close second behind Ryuuji/Shuu. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this far. Comments are cherished.


	5. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt loosely interpreted. I imagine Miru and Kaku as big kids, basically. I am always here for Dad!Shuu.

They were not supposed to exist, and so they were not really alive.

Or so they said. 

Shuu could hardly tell them apart: they were less individuals, and more of a collective that rampaged throughout his infirmary, unabashedly decorating it with what he vaguely remembered being the--no, he still couldn't remember the colors. Only the names. White, green, and... red. Well, the red, at least, he still could see. Their decorating was more than a little gauche, and it made cleaning up more difficult, but that was his assistant's problems, not his. Shuu wasn't in the habit of cleaning, and no unearthly abominations were going to make him start. 

The problems, however, began at his apartment. They had lived their lives in captivity, which meant having everything done for them. Cooking was a nightmare: Shuu hadn't the vaguest idea what lab creations could possibly like, and he suspected that takeout was neither sustainable nor nutritionally sound. So, with a few recipes printed off the internet, and a few tutorials watched, he began his task. First chopped were the aromatics: the onion and garlic. The tutorial had suggested a serrated knife, but Shuu found the cleaver oh, so satisfying. 

Cutting vegetables while sitting down was a little tricky, but it soon fell into a rhythm. A rhythm punctuated only by the swinging of the kitchen cabinet door. Shuu paid it no mind. Miru and Kaku were still hell-bent on exploring their new environment. The sound, however, soon was followed by a rustle of cardboard, and the distinct crinkling of plastic being torn open. Between the space of the edge of the door and the floor, white legs could be seen, as the two sat down, excitedly whispering to each other.

He frowned: he didn't recall putting any boxes in that particular cabinet. That was where the frying pans and pots were stored. It would be the height of foolishness to put something where the two could easily access. 

But just what had they gotten into?

As he slowly rose from the table, managing the sudden pressure of gravity on his bad side, the telltale crunching reached him. Vaguely alarmed that they might have found a time-dried chunk of a St. Pidgeon student, Shuu peered over the beige cabinet door, using the countertop for leverage.

Cereal. 

At the sound of their names, the two glanced up, beaming past half-chewed mouthfuls of Tom the Toucan's Fruity Blasts. He couldn't remember buying this brand; it was obnoxiously marketed to small children and nostalgic adults, neither demographic he fit. Besides, the sugar content in a single handful was almost sixty percent of the daily recommended intake. 

"Give me the box," he ordered, his exhaustion suddenly weighing down on him. Why had he allowed himself to be governed by inferior emotions?  If he had just let them be euthanized, then he could already be in bed with a medical journal, reading about advances in blood transfusions and organ transplants--and not supervising the eating habits of some  relics. "You'll have dinner in half an hour."

"Merry?"

(Caretaker is mad?)

The look on Miru's face, though difficult to distinguish, seemed vaguely alarmed. Was it worried about being abandoned? Could it pick up on his mood?

"No. Just get out of my way."

Now, the worry seemed to have spread to Kaku. "....Christmas?"

(Did we do bad?)

The bracelets jingled a little. 

They hadn't cared about their little rampage of destruction when they weren't attached to anyone, but now, dependent on another, they seemed aware of their precarious position.

"Yes," he said levelly. And at their hurt faces, he amended his words, reluctantly. "But it's forgivable. Go watch tv, while I cook." It almost physically pained him to say that, instead of a sharp remark, but the two only nodded solemnly, before recovering their boundless energy. As they nearly bounced away, Shuu examined the box. A letter flapped, taped onto the cover, obscuring a idiotic toucan, and Shuu had a suspicion that the cereal had, in fact, not been a product of any forgetfulness. In a clumsy scrawl was simply " _For your new children"._

He was going to kill Nanaki when he saw him next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are loved.


	6. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 has eaten this chapter three times. This was a really difficult chapter to write, because the focus kept escaping me, until I realized that it was a follow-up to the last one. Rest assured, i will finish this set, even if it kills me. 
> 
> Enjoy!

With a wall of pillows between him and Nanaki, Shuu finds himself more than a little drowsy. Judging from the soft snores beside him, Nanaki has long since succumbed, after their reconciliation session. His bare limbs, softened by the lamplight, are carelessly strewn across the bed. Shuu gingerly moves a green-pajama-clad arm over to Nanaki's side, before retrieving the latest edition of a surgery journal.

Or so he planned. 

His hand meets only empty air and smooth wood, as he reached for it. Only a lone pen and a crumpled, illegible reminder to buy milk lurk in the back. Where had it gone?

"Nanaki," he starts in a low, deadly tone, reaching for his cane, preparing to get up and interrogate the man with the nearest scalpel. 

In return, Nanaki only groans  in his sleep and rolls over, a dumb grin on his lips.

He's done it. The fool thought he'd get revenge by stashing the journal. Clearly poisoning his children with a sugar rush wasn't-- Wait, his what? _Children?_ Had he seriously just thought that? That sentimental drivel? What next? Was he going to build them a set of cradles with matching frames and blankets next? ( _They've passed that developmental stage,_ a treacherous part of his mind supplies.)

As he contemplates the logistics of moving Nanaki to the nearest chair for interrogation, the bedroom door silently opens a crack. Instinctively and with a rush of sudden strength, Shuu shoves a blanket over Nanaki--he dreads having the talk with Miru and Kaku about Nanaki's role in the household, namely because he himself cannot figure out what he means to him.   

A pale face appears in the dark.

"...Merry?"

(... _Caretake_ r?)

 In the soft orange light of the bedside lamp, Miru and Kaku seem small--and worried. They inch towards the bed, keeping the distance between each other almost nonexistent, before Miru produces something from behind its back.  A thick magazine proclaiming  _The British Journal of Surgery_ in bold, white font _._  

"...Christmas?"

( _We don't feel good_.)

"Merry," Miru adds in a hushed voice. 

( _Bad doesn't feel good_.)

"Give it here," Shuu says, resigned to the thieving tendencies of his wards.  This is as close to self-awareness and an apology as these two will ever get. As Miru returns it with drooped shoulders, they don't say why they stole it, but it's not difficult to surmise. They must have felt lonely, and having seen Shuu read other issues, had stolen it to feel closer to him, especially after having been rebuked earlier. 

Shuu doesn't anticipate them crawling onto the bed, however. He rolls his eyes at the sudden demand, but allows them anyway. Miru nestles in the crook of his left arm, while Kaku takes the right. It's almost sickening, Shuu thinks.

He doesn't know what to do next; he's never been taught. He opens the journal, planning to read it silently until they fall asleep, when Kaku points at the graph, recognizing it as familiar. They quickly babble between themselves, before Miru looks up at him, wide-eyed and eager...and adoring. Far from producing a paternal feeling in him, the look only evokes revulsion. There's nothing to be adored in this brutal world, where death strikes indiscriminately.

But he begins to read the article aloud anyway, if only to satisfy his own intellectual curiosity about this month's contents. "Back in 2100, it had been speculated that the existence of the H9GI protein might be found in..." During his reading, Kaku sighs, and leans against him, almost glowing in the light next to his lavender pajamas. Although lavender is only a word to him now, the contrast still remains: white against a dull grey. The sensation barely registers in his damaged arm, but this contented innocence causes his throat to choke slightly. Miru puts an eager hand at the bottom of the page, ready to help him turn it when he's finished. 

It's definitely sickening this time, Shuu thinks. 

It's almost like having a family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Awkward Dad!Shuu has captured my heart. 
> 
> Comments are loved.


	7. Mnemosyne/Lethe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader learns that the series title is not just word vomit but has actual meaning. Probably.

 "Merry!"

( _Look, look! It's a star!_ )

The morning light refracts in front of Shuu, as he groggily registers what Miru holds in front of him. A stone, bright with its stolen light. Babbling interest, Kaku peers down into its twin's hands--no, it's only a chipped, cheap glass marble, now darkened by Miru's shadow. Color escapes him, but in front of him lies something else. The cracked marble captivates him, with its hum of monochrome, its unabashed brokenness, the darker storm of a swirl inside--as if it remembers that it, too, is made of stardust.  Shuu doesn't think of himself as an art connoisseur--that's for fools who like to talk about aesthetic value and light and form and what wine pairs best with pretension--but he might admit that it was  pretty, at least. Glass has always had such a pretty color to it, and this is no exception.

Well, for a broken thing, at least. 

It's almost like Ryuuji's peculiar geologic finds, the odds and ends lining his shelf in the lab, but it's not. His-- _the_ \-- _the_ death saw to that. 

 Miru watches him, unreadable, as if it remembers that shelf, overlooking the roving haystacks of paperwork on Ryuuji's desk.

"...merry?" it asks, its head tilted. 

(... _is he ok_? _Where he is?_ )

Shuu doesn't need to ask who Miru's referring to. Even stripped of his name, Ryuuji can't leave him be. He won't ever. And maybe that's best, because Shuu doesn't want to think about what it means if Ryuuji can leave him; that seems far more cruel, to abandon his a second time.  

Shuu props himself up among the rumpled blankets and scattered pillows, nearly falling into the warmth Kaku left behind. Beside him, Nanaki mumbles something, sighing deeply and pulling the quilt closer.  

"Christmas?" Kaku adds, watching him.

( _He was Caretaker's friend?_ )

Was he? 

Then the two deliberate between themselves, almost thoughtfully. Before Shuu can stop them, they bounce  out of the room--and the click of the door tells him that they've left the house. Shrugging on a coat over his pajamas, Shuu taps Nanaki awake. "It appears they've run off," he says, collecting his cane and testing his balance today. "No time to dress."

Nanaki sighs. 

Where could Miru and Kaku have gone off to? Back to the lab? Did they get lonely and want to visit Ryuuji?

Shuu spots them in the park. It's still early enough that their presence doesn't draw attention. In the knee-high grass, Miru and Kaku run over to the pond, scattering a grumpy frog. They gaze into the dirty depths. But it eludes them, and it eludes Shuu, because that's just what it does. 

Miru beams, and lets the marble roll off its palm into the water.

"Merry!"

( _Bye-bye_!) 

The surface tension breaks; the marble drops past the pond scum, sinking into obscurity, and the sight of it slipping away pains Shuu in an unnameable way, as if he's losing something again. Someone again. 

"Christmas!" Kaku adds. 

 _(Bye-bye!_ )

And then the pair goes silent, lost in a hesitant anticipation. 

Wheezing, Nanaki finally catches up to them. "No, it's a _penny in a well_ that grants you a wish." 

 "It's only a hunter-gatherer superstition," Shuu says quietly. 

 Nanaki gives him a skeptical look. " _You're_ defending it?"

Having noticed both of them, the twins come over, their cheeks flushed with their sudden sprints. 

"Merry," Miru says, almost proudly. 

( _Not a wish! We wanted Caretaker's friend to see the pretty glass._ )

"Christmas!" Kaku beams. 

( _He's there, right? On the other side of the water?_ )

"Eh, no," Nanaki says again, his years as a schoolteacher overriding his exhaustion. "That's not what the 'other side' means. It's a metaphor for--" 

"It's too early to be running about," Shuu interrupts, the heat of a dull pain spreading in his bad side. "Miru, Kaku, we're going back."

"MERRY!" the two cheer. 

( _PANCAKE TIME!_ )

 Before Shuu can reply, Miru and Kaku bounce off again, onto the cobblestone path.

"Your turn to cook," he reminds Nanaki, who looks suspiciously as if he is about to nod off right there. And as Shuu turns to follow the twins back, his gaze turns to the pond, now still again. It feels almost treacherous, to leave this newfound marker of Ryuuji's existence in some dingy pond, where it will only calcify. But he walks past it all the same, the cane tapping at the concrete, his bad leg lagging. 

And he does not look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep my promises, friends.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, the comments, and the likes. I treasure each one. Your support has kept this fanfic series going, and I am humbled that you all like it. I'm always secretly mystified and pleasantly surprised that anyone wants to read anything I write. 
> 
> This chapter is perhaps more obliquely connected to the prompt of "Greek gods." The chapter title references the Greek deities of remembering and forgetting, which is, honestly, a perennial theme of mine. I'm not even sorry for it anymore. 
> 
> Thank you all for everything, and may the Lord Pudi favor you. ;)


End file.
